


growing pains

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Eremin undertones, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Writing this killed me in several ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There are some wounds that take so long to heal, wounds that cut so deeply it feels like they've left a mark on your soul. Armin prays that those wounds won't ache forever.





	growing pains

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be frank: this is depressing, and made me almost cry a few times whilst writing it, but there you are
> 
> trigger warnings for the things mentioned in the tags, but it's not explicit dw i wouldn't write that.
> 
> anyway. this drained me to write and i didn't proofread cos it was too painful so lmk if there's mistakes

 

He’s supposed to be having fun. So why does Armin feel sick to his stomach and like he’ll burst into tears at any moment?

No one else notices that anything is wrong. It’s funny, really, that everyone else is enjoying themselves at _his_ birthday party except for him. To most of his extended family he might as well not exist. He _hates_ family events like this, absolutely despises them. He thought having Eren and Mikasa here would make it bearable but even they’re distracted, too busy trying to beat each other at a game of MarioKart. Armin knows he’s being selfish but it _hurts_. His two best friends are having too much fun playing video games to pay attention to him on his own birthday.

He doesn’t want to spoil everyone else’s fun, doesn’t want to be a burden on them when it’s supposed to be a happy occasion, so he hides. Now he’s sat alone at the top of the staircase, arms wrapped around his legs as he rests his chin on his knees. He can’t help pouting like a sulky child, as tears sting his eyes. All the laughter coming from living room makes him feel miserable. It doesn’t seem fair that everyone is having a good time, as he sits here feeling sorry for himself. He’s a wallflower at his own party, it seems. He’s just in the way. No one wants him here.

That thought is what sets him off, and he lets out a high-pitched whine as tears start to roll down his cheeks. He buries his face in his hands, trying to muffle his sobs, hating himself for being such a stupid crybaby. He’s never been any different. Everyone always said he’d grow out of it eventually, but that day hasn’t come yet. If anything it’s gotten worse. It’s embarrassing to be this sensitive and emotional when he’s a teenager now, though he doesn’t feel like one, doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of getting older.

The hand on his shoulder make him jerk away instinctively, backing up against the wall as his breathing starts to get uneven.

“It’s just me,” his uncle Gus tells him with a smile that does nothing to reassure his nerves.

Gus puts an arm around his shoulder. Armin sits there, frozen. The tears are still coming but the noises have stopped. When his uncle pulls him close he doesn’t protest, just rests his head against his shoulder as he stares out into space, at nothing in particular. It’s only when he kisses the top of his head that Armin feels his body start to tremble.

“You gonna tell me what you’re crying for, kiddo?” Gus asks. He sounds sickly sweet, playing the role of protective, loving uncle. He’s always been the only one to give a shit about Armin. Why would any of his other aunts and uncles care, when he’s so useless and whiny? For all his life he’s been nothing but a nuisance to them all. But not Gus.

“It’s fine,” Armin says. It isn’t fine. None of this is fine, and he wants to scream and scream it until someone actually listens. “I’m being stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it upsets you, babe.”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

Uncle Gus sighs in defeat. He pulls Armin closer, giving his upper arm a squeeze, a touch so light it might have been Armin’s imagination. Only it’s never his imagination.

“I have a present for you,” Gus says. Almost a whisper, like he doesn’t want anyone downstairs to hear, only Armin. It’s always been that way. Hushed whispers and too gentle touches whenever it’s just the two of them together.

“You already gave me one,” Armin replies, monotone. He feels numb. Doesn’t feel anything anymore.

“Can’t I give my favorite nephew more than one present?”

“I’m your only nephew.”

Gus lets out a low chuckle at that, amused by the remark. Armin doesn’t think it’s very funny.His uncle fumbles around in his jacket pocket for something, and pulls out a small box wrapped in sky blue paper, adorned with a satin bow in a darker shade. It’s so different to the tacky wrapping paper he used for the other gift this morning. Armin knows that one was just a decoy. There’s always two, one for other people’s eyes and one for Armin’s only, one he has to hide in case people start asking where he got it from.

“Open it,” Gus encourages him, gently placing the box into the boy’s hands. Armin just stares at it. “Go on, kiddo.”

He does as he’s told now, carefully undoing the bow and opening the box. He stares at its contents, his expression lacking any kind of emotion. It’s a bookmark. An expensive looking one made of dark blue leather, with his name engraved onto it as well as a five-pointed star. Armin’s eye twitches at the sight of it, and Gus traces the lines of the star with his index finger.

“A little star for my little star,” he says, and Armin flinches at the pet name, “Do you like it? I know how much you love to read. Thought it’d be useful.”

Gus ruffles his hair playfully. Armin tenses, feels like his breath is stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” he manages to get out, “Thanks.”

Gus leans over and kisses his forehead, lips lingering for too long in a way that only Armin ever notices, no one else thinks anything of it. They think it’s sweet that he’s so close to his uncle. What a lovely man to take Armin under his wing after his parents died so tragically, to love and adore him like his own child. It’s all empty. It means nothing. They all say these things but if they really cared about Armin’s wellbeing they’d pay more attention.

“You’re welcome, baby,” Gus says.

“Mhm.”

Neither of them speak for a while and Armin feels a pit in his stomach, feels sick as he anticipates what’s coming. It never does, though. After a while Gus stands up and makes his way downstairs without a word, sneaking back into the living room like this never happened, and Armin is left to sit there and process it all. It isn’t fair that he’s the one who always has to deal with the aftermath, to dwell on it for hours and hours and days and days after it occurs.

He looks down at the bookmark again. It’s beautiful, and maybe he’d be thrilled if Eren or Mikasa or his grandpa bought it for him, but nothing Uncle Gus ever gives him makes him happy. His gifts fill him with an overwhelming sense of sadness that makes his body ache, fear that’s too distant to feel like it means anything, nausea brewing away inside of him.

Armin retreats to his bedroom. For a while he stares blankly at his own reflection in the mirror until that becomes too painful, too unbearable to look at, and he quickly turns his head away. He hides the bookmark at the bottom of his underwear drawer, beneath the piles of boxer briefs with childish patterns on them. Then he makes his way to the bathroom, shuts the door behind him but doesn't bother to lock it. He picks up his grandfather's razor. 

—

 

The light is blinding. The moment Armin opens his eyes it _hurts_ , so he squeezes them shut again, face contorted in pain from the thumping sensation in his head. He feels sick and dizzy, but like he’s floating on clouds, the mattress beneath him soft and comforting compared to the intense clinical lights that shine down on him from the ceiling.

“He’s awake!” someone says, frantic. His grandfather. “Armin? Armin, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

He hums gently in response, not wanting to speak. He doesn’t think any sound would come out if he tried to.

There’s the sound of footsteps and a _whoosh_. Someone else is here now. Her voice is softer, calmer. She doesn’t shout. The two of them talk for a while and then Armin hears her walk towards him, shoes clicking on the floor. She stands next to him. He can sense that she’s there but pretends she isn’t, wishes he could go back to sleep.

“Armin, could you open your eyes for me?” she asks, and something about the way she does makes Armin obey her request. He blinks quickly to adjust to the light. It hurts, but through his hazy vision he sees her smiling down at him.

His arm _hurts_ , he realizes, as he tries to move it. He looks over and sees that there are bandages wrapped his wrist, and there’s a tube going into his vein, connected to a plastic bag full of clear liquid that hangs from a metal stand. Medical equipment. It finally hits him that he’s in a hospital and he wants to cry, remembering how he got here, dreading what’s going to happen now.

 

—

 

Time doesn’t flow the same way in here. The days drag on and the nights are unbearable. Armin feels like he’s going crazy. Children on the ward are always crying and screaming, and he can’t stand to hear it. He feels their pain deep in his soul. He feels like he’s one of them, a sick and fragile little boy who’s never going to get better.

His grandfather looks years older than usual, weary and tired. From the grief on his face you’d think he was mourning. But Armin isn’t dead, he’s still here despite everything. They say he’s lucky to be alive. He doesn’t feel lucky as he sits in this hospital bed, startled by every sound. He wants to go home.

Armin wishes Eren and Mikasa would visit, but they never do. Grisha comes to check up on him from time to time, a false smile plastered onto his face that Armin knows is one that only comes from experience, from years working in a hospital and facing death and suffering on a daily basis. He can see the disappointment in the man’s eyes, hears it in his voice. They all stare at him like he’s a broken toy. That’s how he feels, like a doll that’s so damaged it’s no use to anyone anymore.

When his uncle visits he puts on a facade, greeting him with a smile and letting him lean down to kiss him on the cheek. He doesn’t show the discomfort on his face but beneath the covers his fingers clutch desperately at the sheets, digging into the mattress. Not once does his grandpa seem to notice anything is amiss. Armin wants to yell at him for being so blind. How can he blame him, though? Augustus Arlert is his youngest son, his pride and joy. He’s loved him for three times as long as Armin has been alive. Of course that love is unconditional.

“Do you mind if I have a few minutes alone with him?” Gus asks his father, and for the first time being in the hospital is a relief. They can’t truly be alone with all the nurses hovering around the ward, only a thin curtain separating them. That brings Armin some comfort at least.

“Of course,” his grandpa says, smiling ignorantly, “I’ll go get a coffee, then.”

He leaves, disappearing under the curtain. For a while Gus doesn’t say anything, just sits in the chair beside Armin’s bed with his hands clasped together, one leg bouncing up and down. His thick blond eyebrows are pinched together and his lips are pursed. He looks frightened. Armin almost wants to reach out to him, to tell him it’s okay. He doesn’t.

“Why did you do it?” Gus finally asks, turning to Armin with a gaze so intense it makes him want to hide under his covers. He can’t bear to look him in the eye.

“I don’t know,” is the only answer Armin can manage. It’s the truth. He never planned this, never meant for it to happen. It just did. An impulse, that’s all.

“You scared the life out of me,” Gus continues, and from the way his voice wavers Armin can tell he means it, “Do you remember any of what happened?”

Armin shakes his head. Gus lets out frustrated sigh.

“Mikasa was the one who noticed you weren’t there,” he explains, and there’s a coldness to his voice that Armin is so unused to hearing, “So your grandpa asked her to go up and check on you. But then there was this terrible scream and when we rushed upstairs we saw you lying there on the bathroom floor with blood all around you and- Jesus, I thought you were dead, Armin.”

Armin’s whole body is shaking and he feels sick imagining it. He’s a terrible person. Of everyone who could have found him it was Mikasa, who’s spent the past few years in recovery for the trauma she endured, who used to have panic attacks on daily basis. Armin is a terrible, terrible person. She’ll probably relapse and all the therapy will have been for nothing, and it’s his fault. He felt lonely and ignored, he was sulking because his birthday wasn’t going as well as he thought - those aren’t reasons to try to kill yourself. Mikasa’s been through so much and he does this, like a selfish brat. He hates himself. He wishes he really had been dead.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, feebly. His bottom lip quivers as if he might cry.

Gus merely shakes his head and reaches out to brush Armin’s bangs out of his face. Armin doesn’t have the strength to pull away from his touch. “I could never be mad at you, kiddo,” his uncle says. He’s back to his usual self now, gentle and soft like he could do no harm. Armin would prefer it if he was angry. He’d prefer shouting and screaming, anything at all, to this.

“Is Mikasa okay?” he asks next, needing to know the answer even if it means despising himself more.

“She was shaken up at first, understandably, but she’s doing alright now.”

It feels like a lie. How could she possibly be alright, after walking in on her best friend bleeding out on the bathroom floor? He’s a horrible person. He doesn’t deserve any friends at all.

“She really is fine, Armin,” Gus assures him, “As soon as she found out you were okay she calmed down. They’re looking after her, it’s okay.”

“But she… I…” Armin can’t finish his sentence; he isn’t even sure what he wants to say. He starts to sob instead, his default reaction to any strong emotion, and his uncle leans over to embrace him. Armin doesn’t care that he’s crying into the man’s shirt, dampening the fabric with his tears, he doesn’t care at all.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay.”

He can’t stand being called that. He hates it because it reminds him that he’s not a little kid anymore, he’s supposed to be grown up now. It makes him sob harder until the sobs become choked wheezing sounds and then Gus is trying to force his inhaler into his mouth, but the feel of hard plastic against his lips makes Armin gag and he throws up onto the linoleum floor. His uncle strokes his hair and soothes him through it, and a nurse comes rushing over.

 

—

 

He has to see a shrink before they let him leave. It’s torture. Naturally the psychiatrist asks him a lot of questions, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. Thirteen year old boys don’t try to kill themselves for no reason, she says. It feels like an interrogation. Armin uses every excuse under the sun - he’s been under a lot of stress with school, the bullying has gotten worse recently, he’s confused about his sexuality. All of these things are true but none are the real cause. They’re decoys. Things to distract the doctor with so she’ll let Armin go home and he’ll never have to talk about any of this ever again.

It works, somehow. After questioning him for a while she says he’s free to go home. He hears her advise his grandpa that he should consider therapy but, well, with their money issues that’s never going to happen. They don’t even have insurance. Armin feels so guilty thinking about how much all of this is going to cost. He’s an awful grandchild, a burden.

He finally gets to spend the night in his own bed again. He doesn’t sleep. When morning comes he can’t bring himself to get up, and when he’s brought breakfast in bed he can’t stomach a mouthful of it. He apologizes to his grandfather, saying he feels too ill to eat. It’s not exactly a lie. Armin is an expert at saying things which are not exactly lies but not the truth either.

That day is when he sees Eren for the first time after his birthday. The boy looks drained, totally exhausted. When he pulls Armin in for a hug he starts crying, and he clings on like he never wants to let go, sobbing barely comprehensible sentences. His father stands there watching with a solemn expression, one that fills Armin with even more guilt.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says to his best friend, and Eren shakes his head rapidly, sniffing and wiping away his tears.

“No, don’t say that, don’t you dare.”

“But I _am_ ,” it’s Armin’s turn to start crying now, and the two of them sob together like they did when they were little kids.

Eren hugs him again, holding him even tighter. “I was so scared, so fucking scared, I thought I’d lost you, I-I… I can’t lose you…”

His voice cracks and he sounds so young like that, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” Armin says again.

“ _No_ , I’m sorry, Min, I’m so fucking sorry, I should have been there for you, I shouldn’t have ever let this happen, I…”

“Eren,” Grisha’s stern voice interrupts his frantic rambling, “I think it’s for the best if we give Armin some space now.”

“No fucking way,” Eren snaps back. He sounds vicious, possessive. Armin blinks in surprise because he’s never heard that side of him, at least not directed at his father. He expects Grisha to raise his voice and shout at Eren but all he does is sigh.

When the two boys have calmed down, Grisha leaves them alone to talk in private. They don’t do much talking though. Instead they lay there in silence, Eren stroking Armin’s hair as he rests his head on his chest, both gazing up at the ceiling. It’s nice. It’s the first time since waking up in that hospital bed that anything has felt nice. There’s something about Eren that makes Armin feel safe. Even in this bedroom where the walls hum with secrets that will haunt him till the day he dies, Armin feels safe because Eren is here with him.

“Why?” Eren asks. His voice is so quiet Armin thinks he never said it at all.

“Why what?”

“Why did you try to kill yourself?”

He hesitates. How is he supposed to answer that? He can make up some bullshit excuse with the doctors or his family, but _Eren_? There’s no way those lies would work on him. Armin doesn’t want to lie to Eren but the alternative is petrifying. So he stays quiet.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Eren says, calm in a way that he only ever is around Armin, all the restless energy and hormonal anger gone from his voice, “I just want you to be okay.”

Armin sighs. “I don’t know if I ever will be.”

That makes Eren sit up, and he looks down at Armin with his brow furrowed. “You _have_ to be,” he insists, “You’re my best friend. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

“You don’t even know what it is you’re seeing.”

“I know you’re scared. I can see it in your eyes. Whatever it is you’re not telling me terrifies you, right?”

Armin doesn’t respond. Eren takes that as an affirmative.

“I want to help you,” he says, almost pleading, “Let me help you, Min.”

“You can’t.”

“At least let me try.”

“You _can’t_.”

That’s when he gives up. It hurts Armin, makes his heart ache, because Eren never gives up at anything. He seems so tired out by all of this. It’s his fault, and it _hurts_ , it kills him.

 

—

 

Armin can’t bring himself to care that he’s missing school. It doesn’t matter to him anymore whether he gets good grades or not, nothing matters. He confines himself to his bedroom, wants to decay away in there. The outside world ceases to exist in his mind. He loses track of what day it is, doesn’t care what day it is. If it wasn’t for his grandfather bringing him food and water he’d waste away and die like a flower without sunlight.

That weekend is when he sees Mikasa again. It worries him how normal she looks, because when Mikasa looks like that is when she’s struggling the most. He kind of envies her for being able to hide her emotions so well. Instead of crying or acting out she just forces herself not to let her feelings show, never showing any sign of weakness… It must be hellish, actually. Armin feels so guilty for letting this happen, so unbearably guilty that he wants to curl up and die right now because that way he doesn’t have to face up to the reality of the situation.

“Armin,” Mikasa says. She sounds calm, collected. “I want you to know that I’m not angry or upset at you.”

It’s the kind of thing adults say before they say they’re disappointed in you, that you’ve let them down. Only she doesn’t. She smiles instead, a soft and genuine smile. The kind of smile that usually makes Armin feel at ease but right now it just hurts to look at.

“I want you to get better. We all do.”

But none of them know what’s wrong with him. That’s the problem, that’s why he’ll never get better. How can he get better when these secrets are eating him up from the inside?

No, he’s had enough. He’s done with all this. He can’t take it anymore. The suicide attempt was the breaking point, the thing that made him realize how much he absolutely cannot deal with this on his own anymore.

“Mikasa,” he says. The rest of the words won’t come, they’re stuck in his throat and he feels like he’s choking on them. “Mikasa.”

She smiles wider, encouraging him, and waits patiently for him to say something. He wants to tell her. He just can’t. He can’t make himself say it.

“It’s nothing. Never mind.”

 

—

 

He tries writing it down. It takes half an hour before he can even bring himself to let the pen touch the paper. His hands shake uncontrollably, his handwriting is clumsy. When he finally reaches a period he reads over what he’s written and feels sick and repulsed by it. He scrambles desperately to pick up a marker pen and scribbles it all out, scribbles until his knuckles are white from holding the pen so hard, scribbles until the whole page is black.

Typing it doesn’t work either, because every time he tries he ends up pressing backspace frantically, because he can’t bear to look at the words on the screen. 

It’s impossible. He can’t do it. No matter what method he tries, it never works. Confessing it is too terrifying for him. He stops trying.

 

—

 

It’s by pure chance that everything comes out.

His grandpa is out for the day, and he’s home alone with Gus who volunteered to look after him. He always does. Any chance he gets to spend time alone with Armin, he takes it.

Armin forgot he ever gave Eren a key to the house. He never uses it, probably forgot about it too. He usually rings the doorbell. But today he decides to unlock the door himself, to sneak up to Armin’s bedroom. Maybe he thought it would be a nice surprise. But Eren is the one who ends up being surprised - or rather, judging by the look on his face as he bursts into the bedroom, shocked to his core. Disgusted. Furious. Angry in a way Armin has never seen before.

He lunges at Gus, screams like a feral animal as he wrestles him to the ground. Gus is significantly taller and stronger than Eren but he struggles to fight the boy off as he pummels him with blow after blow. Eren is consumed with rage, shouting at Gus that he’s a monster, that he should die, that he’s going to kill him. It takes Armin a few seconds to come around from the initial shock of it but then he leaps up off the bed, trying to get Eren off his uncle before he does too much damage.

“Eren, please!” he shrieks. The noise seems to break Eren out of his trance and he backs off. He’s breathing heavily, almost growling as he stares down at the man lying on the floor. His teeth are bared and his fists are clenched tight at his sides, knuckles bloody from all the punches. Armin has never seen him like this. Never.

“I’ll kill you,” Eren says, venomous.

Gus stays on the floor through all of this, blood running from his nose. He looks like a scared animal, like prey. In thirteen years Armin has never seen that look on him before. He’s always looked like a predator to him, always the one in control. The vulnerable expression doesn’t last for long, though. He’s too clever for that.

“What the hell was that for, kid?” Gus asks Eren, as he rises from the floor and holds a hand to his nose to stop the bleeding , “Are you crazy?”

Eren all but snarls at him. “I saw what you were doing to him!”

“Am I not allowed to show affection to my own nephew anymore?”

“You were _touching_ him, you fucking bastard!”

“It’s not like that!” Gus protests, feigning ignorance and innocence. To anyone else - to someone who wasn’t Eren Jaeger in fight mode - he might be believed. “Tell him, Armin.”

He opens his mouth instinctively to say yes, it’s a misunderstanding, his uncle never did anything wrong. But he stops himself. He’s had enough of this, wants it all to stop. It’s gone on for too long, too many years of suffering through it in silence. He doesn’t want to lie anymore but his body refuses to let him tell the truth, so he says nothing. It’s enough to make Eren understand.

He pounces again, but this time Armin catches him before he can hurt Gus. The man hurries out of the room, hurries down the stairs. The front door slams shut. That’s the first time it really hits Armin what just happened, now that he’s gone, and he can’t help the way he sobs. He sobs and sobs and sobs. He doesn’t even know what Eren’s saying anymore.

 

—

 

His grandfather is heartbroken. Of course he is. But more than anything he’s angry, at himself and at his son. Armin can tell he’s wracked with guilt, consumed by it. He wants to tell him it’s not his fault. This is all his fault, no one else’s. No one else is to blame but him.

It’s worse now that people know. He feels even more afraid, even more lost than he did before when he was carrying these secrets around by himself. There’s a sense of relief there too, though, barely noticeable but it’s there. At least it won’t happen again, he keeps telling himself, at least Gus will never touch him like that again.

But then comes the _longing_. It drives him insane. There’s no logical reason that he should be craving his uncle’s presence, no reason for him to cry out for him in the middle of the night. It’s like a part of him is missing and his soul _aches_. Why is he missing the one person in the world who hurt him the most? His memories of Gus are a confusing blur, all the nightmares of the things he did mixed in with visions of him smiling and telling Armin he’s his little star. Armin yearns for it back, he’d do anything for that back, to feel special again. His uncle always made him feel so special when he was little. Why can’t he go back to then, before he really understood any of this, when he was too young for it to hurt? He weeps into his pillow every night like he’s grieving. No one else understands, and they never will.

People try to make him feel bad for refusing to testify. Eren doesn’t understand it at all, gets frustrated with him because it makes no sense to him that Armin doesn’t want his uncle behind bars. The police tell him they can’t press charges unless he gives a statement. They try to guilt trip him into doing it, say he might hurt other kids if he’s allowed to remain on the streets. It’s cruel, to manipulate him like that when he’s just a child himself. But Armin doesn’t listen to them. He doubts anyone will ever let Gus near their children again, not now that his name has been slandered and disgraced all over social media.

He shouldn’t read the posts, but he does. It becomes a sort of coping mechanism - an unhealthy one, but a coping mechanism nonetheless. There are those in the comments jumping to his uncle’s defence, saying he would never do such a thing, calling for the posts to be removed because they’re a violation of his right to a trial. Innocent until proven guilty, they say. The thing is, in Armin’s mind he isn’t guilty of anything, not really. He tells people he knows what Gus did was wrong but he can’t bring himself to believe it. It’s a strange double standard, because if he’d done it to anyone else Armin would be just as angry as Eren was, just as distraught as his grandpa. But it's not anyone else. It’s _him._ So it feels like Gus didn't do anything bad at all.

 

—

 

Therapy is hell. It’s absolute hell. Armin doesn’t know how Mikasa ever coped with this.

For the first session he doesn’t talk at all. He sits in silence, refusing to look at his therapist, refusing to even acknowledge her presence. His legs shake and he wraps his arms around himself protectively. His eyes keep darting to look up at the clock, but time ticks away agonizingly slowly. By the time it’s over he’s out of breath, he can barely stay on his feet. It’s like he’s been running a marathon but all he did was sit there, not moving at all, not doing anything except trying to fight off a panic attack.

Each session that goes by he builds up a bit of trust, just a tiny bit. By the second he’s able to nod or shake his head in response to the therapist’s questions. After a couple of weeks he can use single words, which moves onto short sentences. He can fill in charts - writing anything down himself is still too hard but he can tick a box or draw a cross on a line. His therapist gets him to draw and that’s easier, even if all he draws at first are scribbles.

She keeps telling him that healing is a gradual process, that it’s okay to take as much time as he needs. She says it’s not his fault, that it’s okay to feel angry at the people who failed protect him.No child should ever be abused, she says, and that includes him. Slowly, very slowly, he starts to believe her. But there’s always this nagging doubt in the back of his mind. This voice that says everything is his fault, that he asked for it, that he deserved it.

 

—

 

“It will get easier,” Mikasa says. She smiles in a way shows how much she truly cares about him, her fondness and love for him shining in her dark eyes. “It doesn’t go away, but it gets easier to live with. You learn to live with it.”

Armin hugs her because no words would convey what he wants to. Mikasa hugs him back, her chin resting atop his head, and it’s clear she feels the same way.

 

—

 

By the time Armin is sixteen, he’s finally starting to think Mikasa was right.

He doesn’t hate himself anymore, doesn’t blame himself as much as he used to. If those thoughts ever come back to him he can dismiss them. He knows how to now. The burden isn’t so heavy on him anymore. Like Mikasa said, it doesn’t ever go away. He still wakes up crying in the middle of the night, feeling like a scared child again, but it’s not as frequent. It’s difficult to look at himself in the mirror sometimes. His body is changing, and it makes him think he isn’t attractive anymore, that no one could love him like this. But Eren is there to assure him otherwise, to tell him he’s beautiful and perfect and that he deserves the whole world. Eren, his savior, and Mikasa his guardian angel. Together they make him feel whole again, pick up the pieces when he’s too weak to do it for himself. He’d be lost without them.

But, as his therapist tells him, his recovery isn’t their doing. It’s his. He made it this far because he’s strong and brave and he persevered through it when others would have been too scared. She says he’s proud of him for that, and Armin cries because there was a time in his life he thought no one would ever be proud of him again, when he was lying in that hospital bed feeling hopeless and lost and alone.

It gets easier. It doesn’t go away, but it _does_ get easier. Slowly. You just have to give it time.


End file.
